


Special Delivery

by whiskyandwildflowers



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: College AU, Delivery Person AU, Fluff and Humor, M/M, March Madness au?, Modern Era, Pidge | Katie Holt is a Good Friend, Shiro is in costume, Sports References, There is too much going on here, Uber Eats au, keith is so thirsty, mariokart, which is funny because i don't know much about sports
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-01
Updated: 2019-04-01
Packaged: 2019-12-30 16:42:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18319241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whiskyandwildflowers/pseuds/whiskyandwildflowers
Summary: Shiro is the world's hottest Uber Eats delivery driver. Keith is a human disaster.





	Special Delivery

**Author's Note:**

  * For [GoldenTruth813](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoldenTruth813/gifts).



> Happy Birthday, goldentruth813!!!!! We're always talking about how much we love Sheith AUs, so here's a ridiculous one just for you! My first Sheith, and it's a little—a lot—silly, but I really hope you like it!
> 
> This isn't beta'd *shrug*. A lot of sports references are probably wrong, and also Castle University is not real nor was it in anyone's March Madness bracket.

Uber Eats is going to be the death of Keith. Every fucking time he thinks he can quit it, they send him some stupid promo code offering an arbitrary percentage off and, before he knows it, some dude in a Toyota Corolla is pulling up with pizza from his favourite place around the corner. Or Chinese food from a place across town. Or, one time, a single chocolate milkshake that wasn’t worth the $3.99 delivery fee but had seemed like a good idea at the time.

Point is, now Keith is staring at his email, looking at the promo code for a 16% discount in honor of March Madness and dreaming of hot wings while Pidge chants “Na-chos! Na-chos!” over his shoulder at the top of her lungs.

“You know delivery nachos fucking suck, right?” Keith says as he scrolls through the food options offered from a sports bar which is allegedly close to their college campus, but Keith hasn’t been there before. “We’ve done this already, remember? Like, they get all weird and soggy and shit.”

Pidge is bouncing up and down on the balls of her feet. “These are discount nachos now! And besides, we’ve never tried this place before and I heard it’s good. Nachos!” She clearly won’t be deterred from her nacho mission.

Keith rolls his eyes. Discount nachos don’t exactly sound like a good thing. “Who did you hear that from? Lance?” Keith snorts. “He ate a peanut butter and pickle sandwich last week. He, like, _regularly_ eats the experimental joke donut flavours from that coffee cart on campus. So, not the dude I go to for food recommendations.”

But, Pidge has a one-track mind and after bickering about wing flavours for way too long, they would be the recipients of three pounds of chicken wings and some (likely terrible) nachos which would be delivered by Takashi, owner of a 98% Uber Eats rating.

45 minutes later, in the middle of a really intense game of Mariokart, the door buzzes, which startles Keith and causes him to drive off the track while Pidge pulls ahead into first place.

“Pause the game, at least,” he grumbles while going to get the door, ignoring Pidge’s deeply annoying—and totally premature!—victory dance.

Keith flings open the door of their apartment, completely ready to just grab their food and leap back onto the couch to regain control of the Mariokart situation, when he suddenly can’t make his brain function at all.

Because standing at the door in a too-tight Castle University jersey, shorts, and backwards hat with a little floof of white hair poking out, is the guy of Keith’s dreams. And just as Keith is drifting away into a way-too-thirsty daydream involving some obscenely broad shoulders and whatever else is underneath that jersey, he realizes that Hot Uber Eats Guy—Takashi—has been talking to him, and holding out the bag with his order.

“I’m sorry, what?” Keith asks, shaking his head.

“Oh, uh, you’re Keith, right?” Hot Uber Eats Guy asks, frowning a little and looking down at his phone “I’m sure I have the right address...”

Keith can’t function, so he just nods.

“I’m Shiro, well, I guess I’m Takashi on the app. Barely anyone calls me that, I don’t know why I—anyway, here’s your stuff!” Shiro says with a big smile, still holding the bag out towards him and giving it a little shake, and Keith wants to personally murder anyone who would dare dock him any points on his Uber Eats rating, because this guy is clearly perfect score material.

And Keith clearly has a problem.

“Did Uber make you wear that for the March Madness thing?” Keith blurts out, immediately regretting his entire existence.

Shiro stares at him for a second, and then starts to turn a bit pink.

“You mean the basketball outfit?” He asks, scrubbing at the back of his neck. “Uh, no. Not Uber’s doing. I work at the bar and we have to dress according to the theme, which is basketball right now. When we get orders I usually log into the app and do the delivery myself rather than wait for another courier to show up.”

“I guess I missed out on football season, then,” Keith answers because he has _A Thing_ for football players and is also apparently incapable of shutting up, but Shiro throws his head back laughing.

“Well, baseball season is coming up, so look forward to that. I—” Shiro pauses for a second like he wants to say something else. “I guess I should head back—beer and wings won’t serve themselves. See ya, Keith.” Shiro looks over Keith’s shoulder and sends a little wave Pidge’s way. Keith had completely forgotten she was there.

Pidge, who is standing behind him with an incredulous expression on her face and who has also just witnessed this entire exchange.

“What. Was. THAT?” she manages to get out through peals of laughter. “Keith, I can’t. That was too much.”

Keith’s face heats as he brings the food over to the coffee table so they can restart their game and hopefully distract Pidge from whatever she thinks she saw.

Pidge grabs some soda from the fridge and drops on the couch next to him in a weird squat.

“No, seriously, please take this drink because that was the thirstiest display I have ever witnessed and you clearly need it.” She cracks open a can of root beer and hands one to Keith. “Actually, just the thirstiest display I’ve ever seen from you. Lance is worse. But still. What _was_ that?”

Keith considers holding the cold can of soda against his still-hot cheeks for some relief, and sighs. “I don’t know. I don’t know what that was.”

Pidge snorts. “It’s kind of clear what it was.”

“Let’s just finish the game. And if you get wing sauce on my controller again, you’re dead to me,” Keith says, hoping to distract Pidge from rehashing what is one of his most embarrassing moments in recent memory.

Pidge starts chewing her bottom lip and squints at Keith. This is her scheming face, and nothing good for Keith ever comes out of Pidge’s scheming face.

“How about a little wager. If I win, you order more food and get that walking thirst-trap back over here and ask him out.”

Keith frowns. “You’re already ahead!”

“Where’s your competitive spirit, Kogane?” Pidge raises her eyebrows in a challenge. “And if you win, I’ll drop the whole thing and we will never talk about the sexy jock delivery guy ever again.”

“Fuck, fine! Let’s go!” Keith pulls his hair back into a messy ponytail, because this is serious business now and he can’t afford any distractions. He wants nothing more than to forget about Shiro and the most embarrassing five minutes of his entire life.

But when he manages to squeak out a win against Pidge fifteen minutes later, he can’t help feeling like he lost something instead.

* * *

Even though Pidge stays true to her word and doesn’t mention The Shiro Incident—as Keith has deemed it in his head—he still can’t forget about it. He starts scrolling through the sports bar’s menu on Uber Eats as if it’s some kind of dating app. He can’t look at chicken wings without his heart skipping a beat in some sort of embarrassing Pavlovian response. And at night, his thoughts can’t help drifting back to a basketball jersey stretched over broad shoulders and a narrow waist, a square-jawed, earnest smile, and the most ridiculous floofy shock of white hair.

Keith’s a human disaster.

And as he’s wallowing in self-pity one Friday night, he hears his door buzz.  It’s not weird for Pidge or Lance or their other friend Hunk to just show up at his door for some forced socializing (that Keith doesn’t really mind).

But when he opens the door, it’s Shiro, holding a delivery bag and wearing a tight black and white striped referee’s uniform, complete with a whistle.

“You’re not Pidge,” Keith says, wishing his hair wasn’t in a sloppy half-bun and he was wearing literally anything other than an old, ratty, stretched out t-shirt hanging off his shoulders.

Shiro clears his throat. “Uh, you aren’t either. I thought this address looked familiar I—I’m guessing you didn’t order anything.”

Keith throws his head back and groans. “Argh—she promised she wouldn’t!” His phone buzzes in his pocket with a text from Pidge: _the app says he’s there ASK HIM OUT KEITH ASK HIM OUT_ with a bunch of basketball and eggplant emojis.

Shiro holds the delivery bag out again. “It’s nachos, which is not something that travels well, so I’m sorry about that,” he says with a small smile, and Keith’s heart swells and twists.

“Fucking Pidge, I swear to god.” Keith takes the bag from Shiro and feels a little shiver of something when their hands brush for the briefest second.

“Look—”

“I—”

They start talking over each other and Keith flushes. Every ounce of chill he’s ever had flies out the fucking window in front of Shiro. It’s ridiculous.

“You go ahead,” Shiro says, because of course he’s polite and gentlemanly. Fuck.

Keith fiddles with the little bun at the back of his head, pulling a few strands out. “I, fuck, I’m sorry if this is weird, but would you ever like to...do something? With me?” _Smooth, Keith,_ he cringes internally.

“Sorry, like, don’t feel obligated, and if it’s weird just ignore me. It’s cool.” Keith finishes, having never felt less cool in his entire life, but Shiro lights up like an unbearably handsome Christmas tree.

“Yeah I—I was going to ask you the same thing, but I was afraid it would be weird. I don’t know—I get off at 9, in a couple hours, if you wanted to meet me after my shift? I promise I won’t be wearing a ref’s costume…” Shiro trails off, cheeks pink.

“I mean, the uniform isn’t a dealbreaker,” Keith manages, and Shiro turns an even more neon shade of pink.

“Well, in that case…” Shiro laughs. “I’d better go. But, I’ll see you later?” And Keith nods and feels a bit dizzy when Shiro turns another radiant smile on him.

And suddenly Keith feels like he scored the game winning goal, or got a slam dunk, or a hole in one. He feels like a winner.

Maybe Shiro can help him with his sports metaphors later.  
  
Maybe he can convince Shiro to leave the costume on. 

 


End file.
